Chapter 25
Fact or Fiction?
Blue is my favorite color.
Addison
The sound of Rufus crowing causes me to stir and, as I come to, I frown when I look down to see that I am not in my bed. I
am still out in the living room, on the couch . . . with Luke.
And I’m not just on the couch with Luke.
I’m lying on the couch with Luke and he’s . . . spooning me.
He’s wrapped up around me, his warm heavy breath in my hair as his hand drapes over my belly like this is the most normal
way to sleep. I glance at the clock, wondering when the hell I actually fell asleep. I remember laying my head on Luke’s lap
after our emotional confessions. One minute we were talking and the next thing I know, I’m waking up in his arms, feeling
more rested than I’ve felt in ages.
For once I didn’t watch every hour on the clock tick by and stress about how few hours I’m going to sleep. I just . . . slept.
I slept with my best friend holding me. And Luke feels . . . incredible.
I guess a human heated blanket is all I needed to shut my brain off for a while. Or maybe it was me finally playing that voicemail.
It was giving me anxiety knowing I had those words from Luke’s dad and not passing them on to him, because he deserved to
hear that. He deserved to hear the happiness in that man’s voice, even while dealing with his sons giving him hell. And watching
Luke break down while listening to it is something I will never forget. His dad was one of the good ones.
Mine is too for the most part. He made some mistakes to be sure, but he loves me, and he tries to do what’s best for me, which is all I can ask of a man who was suddenly a single dad to a teenage daughter. He stuck around at least, which is more than I can say for my mom.
Luke makes a noise from behind me and my eyes fly wide when he shifts and wiggles into me closer.
Is that . . .
He moves again behind me, and I audibly gasp when I feel the very obvious, very recognizable, very thick sensation of his erection poking into my ass.
His hand that’s draped over my waist moves downward and I chomp down on my lower lip when his fingers touch the waistband
of my shorts, toying with the edge of them.
My knee-jerk reaction should be to push him off me. To grab his wrist and toss it back onto himself. But my body has other
ideas. I find my hips tilting upward, ever so slightly, my body quaking with need that only gets worse when his rough hand
brushes along my belly.
His hips pulse into my backside again and I slam my eyes shut when a spike of arousal lights off inside of me, sizzling from
my core to my limbs, and electrifying me into a delirious, sleepy sort of dreamlike state.
Maybe I could just close my eyes and constrict my worldview to be just feelings. Just dark eyelids and heat and touch and
racing pulses.
I feel his hand tighten on my belly.
Is he awake? He has to be awake. But his breaths are still so heavy—a warm, even cadence.
He thrusts into my back again and I feel myself squirming. But I’m not squirming away from him. I’m squirming into him. I’m wriggling and writhing with his movements, arching into him as butterflies swirl in my belly and heaviness pools between my legs.
So much heaviness.
It’s like an empty aching that I’ve had since the moment I moved into this house. An itch I can’t scratch. A yearning that
refuses to be quieted.
I want Luke to fuck me.
Hard.
The morning sun pinpricks through the quiet darkness and my dreamy state drifts away, revealing just how awake I am and how
not awake Luke is. I fixate on the particles floating in the air while my best friend grinds himself against me and I struggle
to make sense of why this feels so damn good.
Luke pumps into me a few more times now, making no mistake what he’s doing. He’s . . . dry humping me. He’s rubbing his insanely
hard and, dare I say, sizable boner into my rear, rutting between my ass cheeks in a way that feels damn near animalistic.
I swivel and shift, feeling edged by his half-hearted movements. They start and stop in no discernable rhythm, stirring an
ache in my groin that hasn’t been touched by a man in far too long. Flashbacks of our kiss assault me and suddenly I’m back
in my room putting my vibrator to use, only this time, I get to have the scent of Luke all over me while I fantasize.
Luke’s breaths are heavy and warm on my neck, the essence of him driving me wild as he rubs himself all over me.
When his hand slips upward and his fingers brush the bottom of my bare breast, I turn my head into the pillow and silently
scream as my goose bumps race over my flesh, my nipples becoming so hard they feel like razors against the fabric of my T-shirt.
What is going on right now? Are we doing this? Is this happening? I need it to happen. I need something to happen. This is all too painful to endure for much longer.
And is he asleep? He can’t be, right? No amount of vivid dreaming can allow you to slide your fingers along my ribs and—holy
fuck he’s just pinched my nipple. Now his whole hand is cupping my breast. I’m a small B cup at best so there’s not exactly
a lot for him to grab, but he’s definitely got me in his grip and my skin feels like it’s on fire beneath his big palm.
His fingers flex every time his ass does as he thrusts his erection hard into me again and again, turning me positively feral.
He lets out an odd, beastly sort of sound, like he’s in pain. It’s not a sex sound. It’s the kind of sound you make when you’re
masturbating and not worried about what sounds you utter because no one can hear you.
He must be sleeping.
Which feels like the greatest tragedy of all time.
“Luke?” I whisper softly, wanting him to wake up but not wanting any of this to end.
He doesn’t react, just continues thrusting into me, pulsing need through my whole body with every pump in an elemental, dirty
way.
I moan softly as wetness pools in my panties. I’m so fucked up. My friend is sleep-fucking me and I’m . . . obsessed by it.
Turned on by it. Consumed with it. I feel my entire body sliding into it, wanting more. I wonder briefly, if I pulled my shorts
and panties down and arched my back, if he could just slide right into me. I’m sopping wet so I’m sure he could.
And I’d want him bare. I’d want his bare, silky hard cock to bury into me and possibly never come out.
His hands shift back down and skate right over the front of my shorts and I gasp as he cups my pussy firmly in his big, meaty palm. His fingers slide over the fabric covering my slit, and I groan and wriggle into him, egging his movements on as I greedily want more and more.
The dampness of my panties soaks through my shorts, probably coating his fingers, and the idea of that. The obscene image of my wetness on his big, thick fingers as he finger-fucks me through my shorts causes an ache
to roil through me, and I let out a raspy cry.
I don’t know how much more of this I can take. I need him to fuck me. I need to feel the pain of his size pushing inside me.
He has to be awake by now, right?
I spread my legs slightly to give him better access and he groans and grips my pussy hard, pulling me back into his cock.
The hard ridge of him pressing through his sweats and into my hip as he grinds himself over me while still not saying a word
is throwing me into a state of delirium.
When I feel his hot breath on my shoulder, I moan as warmth travels through my whole body. My limbs begin to tremble as he
lazily fingers me through my shorts, and just as I feel myself on the brink of orgasm, he freezes and his whole body goes
still beside me.
Heart racing, I close my eyes and pretend to be sleeping, trying to regulate my breathing as I hear him curse softly under
his breath and yank his hand away from me.
I inwardly cry as his groin shifts away and he fumbles down low beside me as I continue to breathe long, slow breaths, feigning
sleep. He pushes the blanket, putting it directly between us and I want to cry as I feel the warmth of him disappear while
he attempts to extricate himself from his position as big “morning wood” spoon.
He’s clearly not happy with himself and whatever was happening, whereas I was just letting him fuck me in his sleep apparently. I’m not sure who is more fucked up in this scenario. Probably me.
I hear another expletive come from his lips as he drapes the blanket over me and then the sound of his footsteps grow faint
as he walks away. I lie still until I hear the click of his bedroom door and with a frustrated squeak, I throw the covers
off me, my body heaving with my unfinished orgasm.
My nipples are rock-hard under my shirt, and I glance down and feel blanketed in shame over how wet I am. I debate shoving
my hand down my shorts and finishing myself off right here on this couch. It wouldn’t take long because I can still smell
Luke beside me. The heat of him is still on the cushion. All I’d have to do is roll onto my belly, prop my ass up and do a
few swift circles on my clit, and I could orgasm in less than a minute.
But it would feel hollow.
And if Luke came out and caught me, then he’ll know that I let him defile me in his sleep. He’ll know that I soaked through
my panties and shorts as he touched me in his sleepy state of mind. And he’ll know I liked it and wanted more.
I suck in a deep, cleansing breath and stand on shaky legs to make my way to my bathroom. I need a shower and an exorcism.
And definitely a clean pair of underwear.
Luke
Ice-cold water sluices down my back as I press my head to the tile of the walk-in shower attached to my bedroom. My cock weeps
under the assault, bobbing up at me like the unforgiving bastard I am.
But he deserves this pain. I deserve this pain. I am a sick fuck and I refuse to let myself come after the horror show that
I just woke up to.
I was . . . defiling my wife in her sleep like a fucking creep. I don’t deserve to climax. I don’t deserve to have a boner ever again. I deserve to rot in hell because I am unwell.